Chapter 16 The Clarity Consommé #2
Julia’s voice shot up a few octaves. “What did you say your name was again? Never mind. My point is, Clarity Consommé is meant for important matters, not winning classroom bets.”
“I’m not making bets. This is important,” Sylvie pressed on. “My mom is competing.”
A fluttering suddenly caught Sylvie’s eye. Amber packets of honey, with bulging bug eyes, zigzagged through the air. Silky wings jutted out the sides, moving fast as a hummingbird’s wings as they circled above the flower.
Sylvie watched as they landed on the petals, pulling hungrily at the gobs of dough.
Julia tried to grab one, but it shot back up.
Sylvie lunged forward, snatching a packet. “Ouch!” She gave her hand a shake as the packet buzzed away.
The edges of the tablecloth bunched and wrinkled as Julia glowered at her. “Grabbing them like that will guarantee a sting. Besides, if they sense danger, they’ll mount a collective attack. That’s the last thing I need. So please, Susan—”
“Sylvie.”
“Right, Sylvie. Sit quietly until the consommé takes you back.” Sylvie stared up at Julia.
Maybe it isn’t such a good idea to meet your idol.
Things weren’t going well. Sylvie glanced at the clock.
Soon the effects of the consommé will probably wear off.
I need clarity, and not just about the Golden Whisk.
Sylvie eyed the bees as they zipped erratically through the air.
As long as they’re loose, it’ll be impossible to get Julia to answer any questions.
She needed a plan. Sylvie cleared her throat.
“You don’t want your company to get stung, do you? ”
“Stung? Oh, dear! I hadn’t thought about that.” Julia frowned as she pulled another gob of dough from the bowl on the counter. “I may have to cancel the dinner party.”
“Or … I could help you get them back into the jar,” said Sylvie with a smile.
Julia turned. “You can help me fix this?”
“Sure … if you want.”
“Well, it would be terribly rude to cancel my party last minute … but even worse for my guests to be attacked.”
Sylvie eyed Julia’s kitchen. It was littered with dustings of flour, spices, and a slender vase full of fresh lavender.
For a moment, Sylvie just stood there. She only knew the basics about bees.
They use pollen to make honey, and smoke calms them, for some weird reason.
Of course, these weren’t typical bees. Still, maybe there’s a way?
“Bees like lavender and anise,” said Sylvie, pointing to the spice jars and little vase. “Plus, valerian is supposed to be relaxing. May I try something?”
“Go ahead,” said Julia. “Though you hardly look like an apiarist.”
“This isn’t about the right beekeeper.” Sylvie scooped up a sticky handful of dough. “It’s about the right recipe.”
The first time Sylvie made pumpkin pie, she’d added too much clove. It wound up tasting like patchouli, instead of the start of a snow-filled season. She didn’t want to make that mistake again. Just a pinch of lavender, she decided.
Sweat beaded on her brow as she kneaded herbs and spices into the dough. Sylvie pulled and stretched it into a lovely bouquet. She lifted it into the air. Please work! Please!
The robust aromas tickled her nose. The honey packets circled lower, dancing around Sylvie’s head. One landed. Then another. Yes!
Sylvie stared as they burrowed deep, sucking at the herb-laden blossoms. A moment passed. The heads of the packets began to droop. Their wings grew quiet. Sylvie carefully picked one up and handed the snoozing honey packets to Julia.
“Well done!” Julia’s voice clucked like a happy bird. “What was that you used?”
“Lavender. Anise. Ground valerian root.”
Julia gave an approving nod. “Sounds a bit like herbs de Provence. It certainly added new flavor to this sour situation.” Julia smiled down at her. “Thank you, Sylvie Jones. I owe you one.”
Sylvie stared. According to culinary lore, the one hundred pleats in a chef’s hat represented the number of ways a chef had mastered cooking an egg.
Sylvie had always imagined earning her place in the kitchen once she’d accomplished this feat.
But in this moment, Sylvie felt as if she’d already arrived.
I just rescued Julia Child’s dinner party.
“Will you answer my questions now?” Sylvie asked hopefully.
“Yes,” said Julia. “But choose them carefully. The more you ask, the murkier things get.”
“Right.” Sylvie chewed on her lower lip, picking her words carefully. “Is Jack Bass’s visit to Brindille connected to my mom competing at the Golden Whisk?”
“Funny,” said Julia. “You’re the second person to ask me that today.”
“Really? Who was the first?” Sylvie hoped it wasn’t a waste of a question.
“Madame Godard.”
“Godard? You mean, she was your appointment?”
Julia nodded.
Sylvie’s heart raced. “What did you tell her?”
“I told her Bass has a specific commis in mind for this year’s Golden Whisk, someone he’s very close to.”
Belinda, thought Sylvie.
Julia continued. “That didn’t seem to surprise Godard. But what did was when I told her Bass wants to influence the outcome at this year’s all-star competition. After that, Godard said she understood what she needed to do. Then, she asked me if August Strange is somehow connected to all this.”
Sylvie couldn’t help but think of the look Godard had given her in the office, like she’d known Sylvie was lying about how she recognized August Strange.
More questions raced through Sylvie’s mind.
But which one to choose? She needed to be strategic.
“How are Strange and the Apple of Discord connected to all this?”
“Strange is trying to stop what Bass is doing, but he won’t succeed without your help.”
“How am I supposed to help when I don’t even know where Strange is?” said Sylvie.
“You’ll see him again, when it matters most.”
“And when is that?” Sylvie asked.
“That I cannot say … I suspect he put up a blocking spell to protect his next move.”
Smart, thought Sylvie, feeling a little relieved.
“But I sense he’s safe, with like-minded friends who value truth and fairness over gold.”
Sylvie’s mind wandered back to the conversation she’d overheard during the apron fitting.
It wasn’t just our scrolls that were infiltrated.
The notice appeared on the entire scroll system…
. A resistance is forming! If August was with the resistance, that would explain how they knew about the Apple of Discord.
Mist was starting to drift out of the pot on the stove, slowly turning the room hazy.
“We don’t have much time left,” said Julia.
Sylvie stared into the fog. Maybe her surroundings were getting murky, but her mind was becoming clear.
When all eyes are focused on the same point, that’s when I’ll show everyone the truth.
That’s what August had said in the diner.
Only now, it made sense. He must’ve been talking about exposing Bass at the Golden Whisk!
The world will be watching. But how? It would be impossible for Strange to show his face there.
Sylvie snapped back to attention. “Can we stop Bass?”
Julia closed her eyes. “That all depends on what happens at All-Stars… . I see a powerful spell being unleashed. Foraged mushrooms. Herbs. Rings of puff pastry.”
“Is it my mom’s spell?”
A crease suddenly formed between Julia’s brows. “No. It’s … Vindicti-au-vent!”
“What’s Vindicti-au-vent?” asked Sylvie.
Julia made a noise like a chicken plucked clean. “A forbidden recipe.”
Sylvie couldn’t help but think of the ingredients that had been stolen from Tidwick’s.
“Oh no! This is terrible,” cried Julia. “She was deceived by an old friend.”
“Who? You mean my mom?” The air around Sylvie grew thick.
“Yes!” Julia squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “Wait … no … I’m not sure. It’s all too murky.”
Sylvie’s mind raced as she tried to make sense of it. “Was it Guy Fabre? Did he betray her? Can I prove my mom is innocent?”
Julia’s eyes snapped open. “There is always a way to right past wrongs.” She stuffed several of the snoozing honey packets into a paper bag, along with a jar of peanut butter.
“In cooking, just as in life, the only real stumbling block is fear of failure. You’ve got to have a what-the-heck attitude. ”
“Good advice. But what does that have to do with the Golden Whisk?” Sylvie asked.
The fabric form of Julia was starting to unravel. She shoved the paper bag into Sylvie’s hands. “Hang on to this. Remember what I told you.”
The room began to tremble. “I will,” said Sylvie, recalling the name of the forbidden recipe. Vindicti-au-vent. Then, everything fell away, like a million jelly beans cascading down.